


imperfect boys with perfect lives

by PrinceDrew



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Asexual Lance, Bittersweet Ending, Bonfires, Car Accidents, Character Death, Dubious consent at the beginning, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Gratuitous References to Calvin and Hobbes, Gratuitous References to Rick and Morty, Growing Up is Hard, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Lance has No Legs, M/M, Only referenced once or twice, Pidge is a little shit, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 21:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10772901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceDrew/pseuds/PrinceDrew
Summary: Something rooted in Lance’s chest, deep and sure and gaping and void, and then it lit, and blazed, and all of sudden Lance wanted to hurt whoever took Keith, this beautiful fucking asshole of a boy, and made him like this, so rough and unsure himself.He didn’t say that. Maybe he should have, but he didn’t.In which Lance loves Keith, an imperfect boy, with all his heart as they meet at Shiro's bonfire, and it only only grows from there.He loved him.He loved him he loved him he loved -He loves him.





	imperfect boys with perfect lives

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quenti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quenti/gifts).



> This is the longest fic I've ever written, and I believe it's my best.
> 
> This is also an EXTREMELY LATE birthday present to my closest friend, Robyn, and she deserves someone who can actually write fics in time for her birthday. Which was in January.
> 
> It's also quite a personal fic, I think. There's bits of me in there. The latter half especially.
> 
> For the record, Shiro's prosthetic is a 3D printed one, which do exist in real life. The one in this fic is an e-NABLE RIT arm, and yes, you can print on yourself if you have a 3D printer.
> 
> Fair warning: at the beginning of the fic, Keith and Lance do have sex while slightly drunk. It's not explained in any great detail, but I understand it's dubious consent. The same applies for a car accident and suicidal/self harming thoughts. Not in any great detail, but still.
> 
> Enjoy the fic!

They met, early in June, flushed on the immortality of youth, cheap warm drink in hand, tipsy and giddy from Shiro’s alcohol and god knows what else. Their eyes met across the bonfire - the depths of an ocean meeting the night sky - and all Lance thought was ‘damn’.

He’s not exactly sure what happened next - no one is, really, but Hunk insists it involves Lance leaping over the bonfire - but somehow they ended up together, rutting against each other on Shiro’s bed, still smelling of bonfire smoke and only half-naked. It was Lance’s first time ever, and maybe it shouldn’t have happened while he was slightly drunk like he was, but it did, and he wouldn’t take it back for the world, because Keith made him feel _so good_. It’s only afterwards that they exchanged names, only afterwards that they realised they could have the whole summer together.

It’s not as long as it should have been, but it still felt like forever.

He learnt that Keith and Shiro weren’t related, but they were good as in each other’s eyes. He learnt that Keith only just came to Altea, that he was away at a boarding school for all of last year. He learnt that that Keith tastes like cigarette smoke when he’s kissed, and that he lay so still in his sleep, it was like he was a corpse.

In the morning, he also learnt that Shiro heard everything. Eve-ry-thing.

“I didn’t even know your voice could -”

“Shut it,” Keith grumbled. There was a softness to his cheeks in the morning light that barely graced him as he sat in the corner, in a oversized white, stained t-shirt and boxers that exposed his clearly shaved-at-some-point legs, spread wide. Lance couldn’t help but stare, and couldn’t help but huff and turn away when Shiro caught his eye. He left after two slices of toast, telling Keith that Shiro has his phone number in case he wants to get in touch.

He wasn’t expecting much, but it still hurt when he didn’t get a text.

\------

“We’re moving,” his mum announces one day. “It’s not good for you to stay here.”

Lance doesn’t reply, his one hand fiddling with the pages of the Calvin And Hobbes Tenth Anniversary book that rests on the table, the other propping his head up. He focuses his gaze outside the window, on the nest box hanging from the buddleia, the one he painted when he was a kid. There’s a family of robins nesting there, he remembers. He wonders if they’ll move the box, take it with them.

“Lance?” his mum’s voice drifts back over to him, so he turns to smile at her. She has a tea towel in her hand, one he can remember from his youth, a tired look on her face. He’s the youngest child, the only one yet to move out, an uncle three times over at the age of eighteen (Arthur with the twins, age four, Tristan with his two year old daughter and Kay, who only recently gave birth to his first nephew). She’s a constant in his life, there until one day, she won’t be.

“Lance? Lance, honey?” Concern filled her eyes now, never taken off the boy before her. “Lance, is that okay?” And then, “Are you -”

“It’s fine,” he says, smiling broadly, then laughing. “Course it’s fine. Where were you thinking of?”

He hopes the robins will come with them.

\----------

Salvation came in the form of Shiro, who called him on a Tuesday night.

“I’m having another bonfire tomorrow,” he said, and before Lance could even think of refusing, he adds, “Keith will be there.”

Keith _was_ there, sat on on hay bales with a look that suggested he wasn’t there willingly and a dying cigarette in his hands that looked like a firefly. It took Lance all of ten seconds and two gulps of liquid courage to decide to sit next to him, plonking himself down with all the false confidence of a stage actor.

“Hey.” He greeted him with a grin, and he couldn’t tell if if the look in Keith’s eyes was contempt or confusion, so he pushed onward. “How are you finding Altea so far?”

He knew the answer before Keith gave it. Boring.

Altea was - is - a boring English town with a deceptively fancy name that’s only notable for Shiro’s bonfires that happen all year long and a string of farms that basically have only sheep and a horse or two. Even the gala in September has turned to -

“Shit,” Keith said, turning away from Lance with a huff. “Atlea’s shit.”

“So you’ve become a local!” Lance told him, slapping him on the back. “The only people ‘round here that don’t think that is Allura - y’know, the one who lives that in that weird half-Museum half-actual house thing? And that’s because she isn’t here half the time to realise it’s shit. I think she’s in Hawaii or some place at the moment - wait, maybe the Barbados?”

Keith eyed him again. “Haven’t been to the museum,” he muttered, putting his cigarette to his lips. “Mostly because it sounds boring.”

“Unless you can get into the actual house parts, yeah, it is,” Lance admitted, frowning at Keith. “You shouldn’t smoke, y’know. Bad for you.”

Keith did nothing but take out a blue cigarette packet that says ‘Smoking Kills’ and waved it pointedly at Lance.

“I know.”

Lance sighed and turned away, only to catch sight of Pidge - little fucking genius they are - laughing at him. Or laughing at Keith. Or laughing at some stupid joke Hunk made because they were both giddy or tipsy as anything and everything seemed funny, but it was enough to irritate Lance into trying again.

“You at uni?”

There was a moment of silence as Keith put his cigarette box down and flicked away the butt of his current one.

“Going to be,” he said, and Lance might have been imagining it, but it sounded less clipped, less curt than before. “For… for music.” It was said cautiously, as though daring Lance to laugh at him, but all he did was smile brightly.

“That’s great!” he cheered in a way that suggested he was drunk though he probably was the most sober person there. “You can play instruments then?”

“Yeah, but.” He paused, his hand resting on the cigarette box. “Not for you.” He ended up pulling out a cigarette, his fingers surprisingly nimble, and all Lance could think was _god, I’d fuck him again,_ and pray he didn’t say it out loud.

“You?”

“Huh?”

“You at uni?” Keith clarified, his face golden in the light of the fire.

Thoughts invaded Lance’s mind.

Thoughts of applications, and anxiety, and deferring places because _I don’t know if I want this_. Thoughts of stress, and expectations, and not telling anyone because _I’m the happy one_.

“Nah,” he said, lighter than he feels. “Deferred my place for another year. Gonna do maths when I get there.” He noticed Keith’s raised eyebrow and laughed. “Don’t seem like the type, do I? I got A* both GCSE and A level.”

“What about English?”

“C,” Lance admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Numbers - I do better with numbers than I do anything else. Further you go down the sciences, the shittier I get.”

Keith just stared at him, so he jumped to explain.

“Okay, so, maths is like, the purest form of knowledge, yeah? And physics is a lot of maths, so I’m good at that. Chemistry is like water downed physics but with like more words, so I’m a bit shitty with that. Biology is no fun, zero out of ten, would not recommend.”

“I liked biology.”

“And you’re wrong,” Lance said, before remembering he had a bottle in his hands and taking a sip. It still tasted like shit, but he swallowed it down. Keith glared at him, putting down the unlit cigarette.

“You’re wrong,” he muttered, casting his gaze towards towards the fire. A moment passed in silence.

“God,” Lance murmured. “I could kiss you.”

Keith turned to him, eyes igniting gold in the fire-side light. “Then why don’t you?”

And he did.

\----------

The house they’ve chosen is a small seaside cottage, close to a beach, with white walls and minimal rooms. Family gatherings may occur there, small ones, birthdays, but larger ones - Christmas, New Years, the ‘big’ birthdays - have been relocated to his brother, Arthur and his family’s house, because their house was roughly the same size as the old one.

They’re keeping the old one, but renting it, instead of selling it. “Too many memories to fully wash our hands of it,” his mum claims, and he agrees. At least this way the robins won’t be disturbed.

Their current house is an old restored farmhouse, with ‘rustic’ charm and enough space to raise chickens and maybe a goat if you really want. It doesn’t feel right, showing hopeful new couples and families around, explaining how the heating works, assuring them they’ll repair anything that needs it. It’s not right, explaining how they’ll fix the broken banister that Lance himself broke when he was six, or how the bedrooms and the bathrooms downstairs all fit together.

“Are we going to sell my car as well?” he asks one morning over coco pops, and he avoids his mum’s gaze on him.

“Why?” she asks, surprise colouring her tone. “You lo-”

“I’m not using it,” he says. “Might as well sell it, see if we get some money from it. Besides - ” He casts his gaze downwards, onto his thighs, where Blue - his old Lionhead rabbit, still going strong - is asleep. “I’m not sure if I can drive again.”

There’s a slam of pots onto the counter, and Lance winces. Blue opens an eye, and he lowers his head and scratches behind her ear.

“You can, and you will.” Steel in her voice, the kind that was there whenever Lance messed up as a kid. “We’ll talk to Dr. Holt about it.”

Lance can only nod.

\----------

Lance was comfortable driving. There was just something about driving around the small roads by himself, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping out patterns onto his thigh, radio playing soft, instrumental sounds. His car was used, a blue car that can barely fit all his friends in, littered with CD cases and McDonald’s bags and drink cups, smelling of artificial Ocean Breeze. Driving - driving was something he was good at, even if he would never be above average. Heck, he was the one taxi-ing his friends around most often, if only because Shiro hated driving with his prosthetic arm.

Driving at dusk along the lanes was good. Peaceful. No one but him, light low, his phone resting in his pocket. They had exchanged texts on and off throughout the week, yet hadn’t seen each other, because something was always up. Blue needed taking to the vets, Shiro had dragged Keith off to the ‘city’ (which was only a city because it had a cathedral, not because it was actually bigger than their town), Hunk and Lance already had plans, Keith had driving lessons, and so on.

Still though. Every text he received, no matter how small, made him smile. Even if it was just some random fact, or a blurry picture that Shiro clearly took. It was nice.

Keith - Keith made him feel things he hadn’t before. There was electricity, sparks, flowing through his veins. Oh sure, there crushes. Girlfriends, boyfriends. Some kind of genderqueer friends. But none of them had made him feel so - so alive.

He wanted more. So much more.

There was a figure walking alongside the road, hunched over and clearly shivering. Lance frowned, and gently pulled over so he could talk to them. It took a moment, but then he was grinning, rolling down his window, and calling out.

“Keith!” Sure enough, the boy turns to look at him, a frown lightly etched onto his features. “Do you need a lift?”

Keith stared at Lance. His hands were clutching at his robin red jacket, knuckles white, the fabric taut against his chest, a cigarette perched precariously in his lips, glowing soft and amber, illuminating his face even as he took it away to speak.

“I’m taking a walk.”

“And I’m taking a drive,” Lance replied, laughing. “Where are you even going?”

Keith shrugged. “Just around. Look, I -”

“It’s warmer in the car. Though you gotta get rid of that cigarette - number one rule, no smoking in the car.”

Keith stared at him for a moment, before sighing, dropping his cigarette to the ground and stamping on it far more viciously than he need to, then opening the car door and slipping in. He didn’t put on his seat belt, but Lance didn’t plan on going fast, so he didn’t push it.

“Feel free to put on whatever you want,” Lance said, pulling back on the road. “Everyone’s got their own taste, so it’s a mish-mash, but they’ll be -”

“You have the Hamilton CD?” Keith interrupted, holding the aforementioned CD in his hands.

“That’s Hunk’s,” Lance told him, eyes on the road. “He’s got a thing for musicals. Pidge likes that electronic stuff, Shiro has that excuse of genre they call country. Cases are labeled with their name, just pick whatever you like.”

“What do you like?” Keith asked, sounds indicating he had picked up a large amount of CD cases.

“Mishmash of stuff.” Lance shrugged. “I mostly burn my own CDs, because I can’t be bothered changing them all the time when I’m struck with a Beyonce mood in the middle of Pink. They’ll have the tracks written on ‘em, so you won’t get any surprises.”

Another minute or so went with Keith just examining the CDs, before Lance heard the _click-whirr_ of a CD being ejected and then fed into the player.

“ _Laaaaa - la-la-la! La-la-la-la-laaa! La-la-la, de-la-la!_ ”

Lance perked up, grinning from ear to ear.

“Oh, hey, Young Volcanoes!” He took a deep breath, and saw Keith wince out of the corner of his eye. “When Rome’s in ruin, we are the lions, free of the coliseums! In poison places, we are antivenom! We’re the beginning of the end!”

He noticed Keith staring at him from the corner of his eyes, and felt a laugh bubble up inside him. Instead, he continued on with his half-okay singing, almost but not quite hoping Keith liked it.

“Tonight! The foxes hunt the hounds, and it’s all over now, before it has begun, ‘cause we’ve already won!” he belted out, though not too fancy or strenuous on his voice. “We are wild! We are like young volcanoes! We are wild! Americana exotica - do you wanna feel a little beautiful, baby?”

And it was soft, a whisper at best, meant for no one but himself, but it still caught Lance’s ear.

“Of course I do.”

_Something_ rooted in Lance’s chest, deep and sure and gaping and void, and then it lit, and blazed, and all of sudden Lance wanted to hurt whoever took Keith, this beautiful fucking asshole of a boy, and made him like this, so rough and unsure himself.

He didn’t say that. Maybe he should have, but he didn’t.

Instead, he nudged Keith with his shoulder, letting a relaxed grin slide over his face. “Hey,” he offered gently, noticing Keith turning to face him. “Mind if I take you somewhere?”

Keith shrugged. “You’re driving.”

Lance laughed. “That I am, handsome. That I am.”

They were quiet the rest of the drive.

\----------

“When can I drive again?”

Dr. Holt goes quiet for a few moments, pulling various faces, before letting out a long sigh.

“Not… for a while,” he eventually says, busying himself with papers and files. “And not with your current car, I don’t think. Amputees - especially double amputees like yourself - tend to have their cars adapted...and with your arm…” He swallowed, now looking out the window. “And you need to let DVLA know, and they need to assess you…” He shook his head, finally casting his gaze back to Lance, even if for only a second. “Not for a long time, I think. Not for a while.”

Lance stared at the floor. “Okay.”

“How is everything?”

Dr. Holt is not Lance’s therapist. Dr. Holt is Lance’s doctor. Dr. Holt should not be Lance’s doctor. Dr. Holt should have remained what he was, a man who was Pidge’s father and just so happened to be a doctor with a speciality in prothstetics.

“Good,” Lance manages. “We ended up giving the house to Tristan - y’know, my older brother? - because Mum didn’t want to give it away. She’s sentimental, y’know?”

Dr. Holt nodded. “And how are your legs treating you? Do they fit alright? Any pain? Swelling?”

“My stump still aches at times,” Lance says, now craning his head to look at the ceiling. “But, y’know. Getting used to them.”

“How’s physical therapy going?”

He has notes on it. Lance knows he does.

“‘S’alright,” Lance murmurs. “I can get by okay.”

Lance is a bilateral above-the-knee amputee with a right arm that doesn't work properly. He mostly gets by with a wheelchair, because learning to walk with prosthetic legs is not something done overnight, and even now, maybe four months after losing his legs, only one after being fitted for a pair, he still can't do it right. It’s a process, they tell him, and he can't expect it to happen in leaps and bounds.

He misses his friends. He misses Keith.

\----------

“You took me to fucking field?” Keith’s voice was one part amazement, one part disbelief, and about five parts ‘I'm so done with this bullshit’.

“Not just any field,” Lance told him, hopping out of his car after switching off the engine. “You’re looking at my childhood.”

Keith stared at a toadstool. “God. Some childhood.”

“Oi!” Lance kicked him the ankle. “We had imagination! And sticks! And Nerf guns! Mostly Nerf guns!”

“I had books,” Keith replied. “Why are we here?”

“Because you need to be.” He left it at that for the moment, ignoring Keith's queries, heading to his boot and opening it. He pulled out the picnic blanket he kept in there, and for good measure, a bottle of vodka Shiro had once told him to hide but never picked up. Maybe they’d need it, maybe they wouldn't.

“Follow me,” he told the boy after he shut the , and started walking off, towards the centre of the field. They walked for about five minute, the blanket and bottle tucked under Lance’s arm, until they came to the centre of the field. He smiled at Keith, handing him the bottle with a flourish. Then he spread out the worn blanket, the one from his childhood, blue and speckled with stars.

“Lie down with me?” He held his hand out, smiling as softly as he could. There was a wariness to Keith, like a new dog or a wild deer, and even when he did place his hand in Lance’s, it was light, the barest of touches. Lance laced their hands together, still smiling, and gently pulled Keith down so that they were lying on the blanket, not quite touching, but aware.

“It’s such a beautiful night, isn’t it?” he asked, and Keith kept quiet. No matter. Perhaps the quiet was needed at the moment.

For as long as he could remember, his affinity for water had coupled with an affinity for space. Perhaps because it was more unreachable, less of a tangible concept than water was. A bath every night, a trip to the beach every summer when the weather was nice, and the closest he ever got to space was sitting on the roof of his house when he was eight and breaking his leg when he fell off, because he thought if he jumped high enough, he could leave everything behind.

“Can you -” He turned to look at Keith, who was staring up at the sky. His eyes were glinting in the low light, the outline of his face a silhouette.

He struck by the fact that he wants to learn everything about Keith. He wants to learn about his first childhood crush, his first partner, his first kiss. He wants to learn about his favourite fairy tale, when he learned what it meant to love someone. He wants to learn when he realised the world wasn’t a safe place, when he realised love didn’t really solve everything. He wants to know.

“Can you name all the constellations?” Keith asked, almost shyly, and _fuck_ did Lance feel - feel something calm and sweet and _nice_ bubble inside of him.

“Yeah, just let me -” Lance squinted at the sky, trying to find the North Star. It’s how Kay showed him years ago, when he was six and she was ten, still not quite out of her pink-hating phase, when Arthur and Tristan were mad at them both. He lifted the hand that was still holding onto Keith’s, and pointed at the sky.

“That’s Polaris,” he murmurs, then trails their hands down. “And that’s Little Bear.”

“Why does it have a tail if it’s a bear?”

“Because people didn’t know what bears looked like back then.” That’s what Kay had told him, at least. “Let’s see…” He trailed their hands again, stopping when he found it. “That’s Draco,” he murmured, tracing the stars, “curling around to protect Little Bear.” Kay also told him that.

“The Plough’s over here, and then there’s Cygnus…” He needs to see Kay more often.

“Lance?” Keith’s voice was low, cautious. His hand was trembling in Lance’s.

“Yeah?” He let their hands drop down. He wondered what happened to the bottle of vodka.

“I’m not…” Lance turned to face him. Keith’s eyes were focused on the sky, darting around as they traced the constellations. He took a breath, deep and shuddering.

“I’m not worth this.” He swallowed. “I’m… I don’t know why you think I’m worth something. I’m - Lance, I’m not - I’m not perfect like you think I am.” He hid his face in his arm and shuddered as small tears began their way down his cheeks. “I’m - I’m not - I get scared and anxious and I say things that aren’t right and I don’t understand myself and -”

“That’s alright,” Lance murmured, wiping away what tears he could. “That’s alright, love. I know you’re not perfect. I know you’re imperfect. Hey - just listen to me.”

He pulled Keith’s arm away from his face, cupped his damp cheek with his free hand and took a deep breath. He had thought this a lot, by himself, sometimes when messing around with his friends, but never voiced it.

“Nobody exists on purpose, and nobody belongs anywhere,” Lance told him. “We can’t expect perfection in a world like this.” Keith turned to him, eyes still gleaming with tears in the light, cheeks soft and still in Lance’s hand, a smile gracing his face -

“Did you just quote Rick and Morty to make me feel better?” he asked, his hand now cupped over Lance’s, chuckling, and Lance felt so _lucky _, and he laughed, and laughed and -__

__He loved him._ _

__He loved him he loved him he loved -_ _

__He loves him._ _

__\----------_ _

__Sleep doesn’t come as easily as it once did._ _

__Lance used to be able to fall asleep. His mum used to call him the blessed child on long car rides, because while Arthur and Kay and Tristan would squabble over the CD choice and where to sit, he would be quietly napping in the back seat, or watching the streetlights pass by late at night, when the world seemed to be much quieter than it the day._ _

__Nowadays, he lies in the dark with his eyes wide open, trying to make constellations out the glow in the stars on his ceiling that he never gotten rid of, and waiting for the robins outside to sing._ _

__\----------_ _

__A week or so later, there was another bonfire, which Keith didn’t go to, claiming sick, which Lance didn’t mind. They had spent most of their time together the past week, lazing about on walks or drives, and everything was shy and sweet, still light brushes and blushes. At least on Keith’s half._ _

__Lance had taken the opportunity to return the vodka to Shiro, who in turn, took the opportunity to give Lance some cider he had apparently promised him on his birthday. Truth be told, Lance doubted that he had, but much of his birthday party had been spent in some combination of drunk, high, and tired, and he wasn’t going to refuse free alcohol, so he accepted it with grace, and sat on the hay bales on the other side of the bonfire, sipping away the fruity cider as the flames danced in front of him._ _

__He wondered if his mum knew how often they were drunk or high out here. Probably._ _

__“Mind giving me one of those?” Lance glanced to the left only to be met with the grinning face of Hunk. A glance to the right revealed Pidge absorbed in some phone game, thankfully not smelling of weed for once._ _

__“Help yourself.” He handed Hunk one of the bottles, humming to himself. “Apparently it’s a birthday present.”_ _

__Hunk frowned. “It’s only just July.”_ _

__“Yeah and?”_ _

__“Your birthday’s not 'til the end of the month,” Pidge piped up, before scowling. “Fucking Chansey!”_ _

__Lance turned to face Pidge just in time to see their phone sail across the clearing and hit Shiro in the face. He turned back to Hunk._ _

__“Maybe it’s ‘cause you jumped across the bonfire?” Hunk suggested, and Lance blinked._ _

__“I did that?!” he exclaimed. Hunk nodded, finally opening the bottle of cider._ _

__“Yeah, man,” he said. “Night we met Keith, remember?” Lance frowned. “Or not,” Hunk added. “You were kinda - well. Kinda pissed.”_ _

__“More like very,” Pidge muttered, pushing themselves off the hay bale and stalking over to Shiro._ _

__“What did you and Keith even do that night?” Hunk asked, after sipping his drink. “I mean, you left for Shiro’s pretty quickly.”_ _

__What did they - oh. _Oh.__ _

__He hoped he wasn't as vocal as he remembered being. He _really_ hoped he wasn't as vocal as he remember._ _

__Hunk frowned as Lance reddened and looked away, almost downing his drink and Pidge returned, scowling and huffing at the newly cracked screen._ _

__“Wait so you -” Hunk’s eyes widened as he stared Lance. Pidge, for their part, didn't seem to care as much._ _

__“Ye - yeah.” He swallowed. “Hey, didn't you say you were going to throw me a party when that happened?”_ _

__“That’s if you managed to get with Allura,” Hunk corrected, frowning. “Aren't you asexual?”_ _

__“Yes,” he almost snapped. “I am.” Then he softened, sighing, taking one final sip. “It’s - I dunno, man, it’s weird. I mean, I’m still a-spec but Keith’s - he’s different, y’know? Never met anyone like him. Maybe I'm demi. Maybe I’m just me.”_ _

__“Maybe,” Hunk agreed, looking across the fire. “He’s something special, isn’t he?”_ _

__Lance considered this, casting his gaze to the sky. “Yeah,” he murmured. “He is.”_ _

__The trio sat in silence for a moment._ _

__“God,” Pidge huffed. “That’s fucking gay.”_ _

__“Yeah.” Hunk nodded. “God, Lance. You’d think you’d be in a gay relationship.”_ _

__“Yeah, Lance,” Pidge said. “It’s almost like you’re bi or something.” They paused, then glanced up. “You are bi, right? Bi and a-spec?”_ _

__Lance nodded. “Bi and a-spec.”_ _

__Pidge nodded, considering a moment. “So are you actually boyfriends or are you doing that thing where you dance around each other?”_ _

__“Actual boyfriends,” he confirmed. “I think.”_ _

__Both Hunk and Pidge gave Lance a cold, hard stare._ _

__“Moron,” Pidge muttered, as though they hadn't thrown their phone over Pokémon Go._ _

__“Huge moron,” Hunk agreed, and Lance couldn't think of anything to discredit him, but he was pretty sure there was something._ _

__“I'm taking him on a date on Monday,” he announced, finally picking up a new bottle. “So I can ask then.”_ _

__“Or you can text him.”_ _

__“Or you can shut it, gremlin.”_ _

__“Where are you taking him?” Hunk asked, putting his hand on Lance’s leg. “Anything fancy?”_ _

__“Just the cinema and going out to restaurant afterwards.” He noticed the looks Pidge and Hunk exchanged. “Not Nando's. Or McDonalds. I was thinking Pizza Hut.”_ _

__“Go to Pizza Express,” Hunk told him. “It’s nicer.”_ _

__“And make sure the film is good,” Pidge added. “At least fresh on rotten tomatoes.”_ _

__“Thanks for the advice, single friends,” Lance huffed, rolling his eyes. “Next thing you know, you guys will be dressing me for it.”_ _

__Silence._ _

__“Guys?”_ _

__\----------_ _

__Lance’s dad had died when he three. So he never really knew him, even though everyone expected him to. He knows more about the robins in the garden than he did his dad._ _

__No. That isn't true. He knows some things about his dad._ _

__His dad’s name is Charles Jack McClain, and he looked a lot like Lance. He was already diagnosed with cancer when Lance was born. There’s a picture of him on the mantelpiece, and he’s smiling while holding Lance in his lap, Tristan and Kay clambering over him, and Arthur standing, just leaning against his dad, and smiling._ _

__“He took good care of you,” his drunken uncle had once told Lance. “Loved you an’ your siblings more than anything. Love your Mum most of all.”_ _

__He knows his parents had a great and grand cosmic love story before his dad died, that everyone liked to cite as being true love. He also knows they only went out because his mum flipped a coin and it came up heads._ _

__A coin toss. A coin toss that lead to years of marriage, four children, a house in the countryside, the heartbreak at the end of it all, and endless memories._ _

__It makes his head dizzy to think about it._ _

__His dad had died of cancer. He had been three. Arthur was thirteen, Tristan was ten, and Kay had been seven._ _

__He doesn't know his dad._ _

__When he was does know is the aftermath._ _

__He remembers, once, when he was six, asking his mum where his dad was, and everything exploding. Arthur yelling _he’s dead he's dead he’s dead you idiot stop bringing him up_ and Mum going eerily quiet and Kay yelling _he doesn't know that he’s only little he can't remember him_ and Tristan yelling that _he shouldn't keep asking_ and -_ _

__Did he cry?_ _

__He must’ve done, because he can remember that was the night Kay took him to the field._ _

__There was a search party for them, he can remember that now. Tears, lots of tears, Tristan apologising for being so harsh, his mum hugging them both and _promise me you’ll never run away like that again_._ _

__He can't remember what Arthur did._ _

__\----------_ _

__“Keith?”_ _

__“Yeah?”_ _

__“Look behind me a moment.”_ _

__Keith leaned around him, face carefully neutral._ _

__“Is there a pair of idiots behind us in really bad disguises?”_ _

__Keith glanced at him, then glanced back, and slowly nodded. “Pidge and Hunk are about three tables away.”_ _

__“Are they wearing false mustaches?”_ _

__“And sunglasses.”_ _

__Lance groaned and leant forward onto the table, covering his face with his hands. “Well, that’s just fan-tucking-fastic now. One second.”_ _

__He whipped out his phone and sent a quick message to their group chat._ _

__**Lancelottle:** stop stalking me n keith_ _

__**Tiny Gremlin Child** : make us_ _

__Hunk’s response was to send the chat emoji (an alien Pidge claimed was friendly), so he muted and closed the chat and returned to Keith, who was half frowning at him._ _

__“Hi,” he said._ _

__“Hi,” Keith replied, then he coughed and looked away, rubbing his neck. “You, uh. You look nice.”_ _

__Somewhere behind him, he could feel Pidge and Hunk laugh. He couldn't hear it, but he could still feel it._ _

__“Thanks,” he said. It was probably the nicest casual outfit he owned, according to _friends_. It was just a blazer, plain t-shirt and skinny jeans combo, but _apparently_ his original choice of a blue turtleneck and a brown jacket with a huge collar made him look like an 80s reject. “You do too.”_ _

__“I’m…wearing the same thing I always do.” Keith frowned. “Are you -”_ _

__“I'm saying that you always look nice,” Lance insisted, leaning forward onto the table. “The pony tail’s new though. I’m used to your mullet.”_ _

__Keith’s hand shot up to his hair, grabbing his pony tail, still frowning. “I have a mullet?”_ _

__Lance blinked. “You don't have it on purpose?”_ _

__“I - No?” He let go of his ponytail. “I just - when I was younger, I didn’t have that many haircuts, because they didn’t feel right and my carers didn’t take me. So I’m just used to having it long.”_ _

__“Oh.” There was something there, something in carers, that Lance wanted to pursue, but then their waiter appeared, pollo pesto for Lance in one hand, margherita pizza in the other for Keith, laying them in front of the boys with a flourish before disappearing, and then Keith was eating, so Lance couldn’t ask now._ _

__The date had - Lance couldn’t really believe it but - the date had gone well. He had picked up Keith, ignoring Shiro’s half-cautious, half-judging stare, and they went to the cinema, and halfway through the film, Keith had held his hand and curled up against him, and Lance couldn’t believe it, and he held Keith as close as he could, and he loved him, and he was happy, and the film was actually half decent and they were sat in Pizza fucking Express on a date and -_ _

__“You’re not eating,” Keith piped up, frowning harder. He reached across the table and cupped Lance’s cheek, thumb trailing over where Lance knew he had a light smattering of freckles. “You’ve gone red and you’re warm. Are you feeling okay?”_ _

__Lance pressed his own hand against Keith’s, and smiled. “Never better,” he told him. “I just can’t believe how lucky I am.”_ _

__Keith flushed red too, withdrawing his hand and looking away, picking his pizza slice back up. “Moron,” he muttered, but then shot a small smile at Lance and Lance melted._ _

__“Um, Keith?” He looked down and picked up his own fork. “We are - we dating, right? We are boyfriends?”_ _

__There was silence for a moment, Lance’s heart thudding against his rib cage._ _

__“Do you not want be?” Keith asked. “I mean, I thought we were, but if you -”_ _

__“No no no no no!” Lance exclaimed. “I -” he swallowed, palms suddenly clammy and everything not right - “I’d like nothing more than to date you. I thought - that it was clear.”_ _

__“It was until you asked,” Keith said. “I mean, I thought -”_ _

__Cheering exploded behind the pair, and in the next moment, Hunk and Pidge were being escorted from Pizza Express, which finally gave Lance something to hold against Hunk. Lance waited until they were fully gone, before turning back to Keith._ _

__“So -”_ _

__“Where are we going after this?” Keith’s gaze was cast down, and he was almost fiddling with the pizza crust in his hands._ _

__“Huh?” Lance blinked at him._ _

__“Are we going go somewhere, or to one of our houses and…” He dropped the pizza crust and picked up a fresh slice. “I mean, Shiro is out and, uh.” His voice dropped low, his gaze even more so. “He threw a condom at me and said ‘STIs aren't Pokémon, don't catch them all’, and then left for Pidge’s place to hang out with their brother or something.”_ _

__“Ah.” Lance flushed, and looked away from Keith. “I’m uh - um - I don't -” He choked a little, then swallowed, and looked back at Keith, only able to see the scarlet tips of his ears. “I - Going to back to yours and Shiro’s place, yes, I want that but I - I'm - what Shiro implied - I’m not up for -”_ _

__“I get you, I get you,” Keith blurted, slate-coloured eyes meeting ocean-depths in a panic. “We’ll uh, go back to Shiro’s place then.” He swallowed and looked back down, as did Lance, both just pushing their food around their plates._ _

__“…you do know we already had sex, right? So you don't need to stutter around it -”_ _

__“Oh my god, _shut up_.”_ _

__They finished within twenty minutes, conversation light and teasing throughout, had a minor argument over payment that ended with Lance paying for the food and Keith for drinks, and they went to Keith and Shiro’s house, humming along to Les Mis as Lance drove, Keith mocking Lance over his ‘non-theatre’ singing abilities, until they arrived._ _

__Lance had been to Shiro’s house several times before, mostly when it was too cold and rainy for a bonfire, which was to say most of the year. It was small, cozy, conventional magazine living room with beige and cream walls and carpet and dark furniture, only with styrofoam tiles on the ceiling that formed swirls._ _

__So the guitar in the corner, the laptop covered in various stickers and swears, various sheets of paper and open notebooks, some plain, some lined (all with half sprawled rambling or half thought out lyrics), some sheet paper (some with printed notes, others with pencilled notes, some with a combination), and a tiny desk drum set of all things all cluttered together on the small coffee table was so obviously Keith it made Lance grin._ _

__“Fuck,” Keith muttered softly, before coughing and looking away as Lance collapsed into the sofa behind the table. “Sorry for not cleaning up.”_ _

__“It’s fine.” Lance waved him off. “C’mere, baby.”_ _

__There was a split second of hesitation, the tiniest amount of doubt flicking onto Keith’s face, but then he was sitting next to Lance, curling up to him again, and Lance couldn't help but pull him closer and kiss his forehead._ _

__“God, I love you,” he mumbled._ _

__“Yeah, and I don't get why.” Keith sighed, but he smiled at Lance, not quite there, but close enough._ _

__“All this stuff for uni?” Lance asked, gesturing at it._ _

__“Um…” Keith coughed, and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, I do… it’s my personal music stuff. I do… I release stuff online, y’know? Just to keep me in practise and stuff.”_ _

__“I get ya.” Lance hummed, eyeing everything on the table. “What do you do?”_ _

__“All sorts, really.” Keith head was a little higher now, a small shine in his eyes. “I do a lot instrumentals, ‘cause my microphone is all sorts of shit, but I still like them. I’m doing like a Calvin and Hobbes inspired thing at the moment, that’s gained some traction -”_ _

__“Calvin and Hobbes?” Lance frowned. “What’s that?”_ _

__The look in Keith’s eyes suggested no bigger betrayal Lance could have done. “You don’t know Calvin and Hobbes?”_ _

__“No?”_ _

__Keith huffed, and shoved away from Lance, standing up. “Wait right here a moment,” he told Lance, before almost bolting up the stairs. He emerged two minutes later, holding a long crochet cartoon tiger, which looked as those it was once bright orange but now dulled, and almost fuzzy with age, a similarly dulled red scarf around the tiger’s neck. Keith clutched it closely, as though afraid of Lance snatching the tiger away from him._ _

__“Hobbes? Please tell me you recognise Hobbes.” He nodded at the toy tiger in his arms._ _

__“Kinda?” Lance squinted. “I’ve seen him around on the internet.”_ _

__Keith gaped at Lance again, before shaking his head slowly. “You’re not leaving without at least the tenth anniversary collection.” He disappeared back up the stairs, and reemerged without the tiger, muttering under his breath as he sank down next to Lance again. Humming under his breath, Lance pulled him back close, his hand now lightly running through Keith’s hair. It was softer than he expected, almost like a fluffy cat’s fur._ _

__“I’ll read it for you,” he promised, kissing Keith softly on the cheek, and waiting for him to smile. He didn’t, but his shoulder relaxed, and he looked away like he always did. “You mostly play guitar, right, babe?”_ _

__“Mm.”_ _

__Lance hummed for a moment, hoping he appeared serious. “Can you play me Wonderwall?”_ _

__“Oi!” Pain exploded across Lance’s thigh as Keith slapped it, and he threw back his head and laughed._ _

__“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” he snorted, leaning forward as he cackled wildly._ _

__All Keith did was huff again, crossing his arms and settling back into the sofa. “Dick,” he muttered._ _

__“Hey, hey, hey,” Lance said, sitting back up. He reached across for Keith’s, gently cupping his cheek. “Look at me.”_ _

__Doe-like eyes turned towards Lance, almost fluttering with how quickly Keith blinked._ _

__“Dance with me.” He took Keith’s hands into his, letting them rest lightly on him, feeling their warmth pulse._ _

__“Now?” Gaze averted again. “There’s no music and I… well. Can't dance.”_ _

__“Doesn't matter,” Lance said, standing up. He dropped his hands for a moment, only to put the music, not quite soft and subtle, but neither were they, before he held out his hand to Keith. “I’ll lead you. Put your trust in me.”_ _

__There was a moment as the first notes of the song began to play, a second everywhere but that room, before Keith took and tightened his grip on Lance’s hand, pale and almost trembling, and stood up himself. Lance smiled, and pulled him close, chests touching, gently moving them away from the table. He was perhaps an inch taller than Keith, small but noticeable, even more so now they were like this._ _

__“ _I hear your heart beat to the beat of the drums - oh, what a shame that you came here with someone, yeah…_ ”_ _

__“Keep your head up,” he told Keith, letting go of Keith’s hand and his own drifting to his back. “And don’t slump. Keep your back straight.”_ _

__Keith nodded, copying Lance’s stance. “Hands?” he asked._ _

__“Here -” Lance clasped Keith’s hand again, this time drawing it close to him, then letting go so Keith’s arm was almost draped over his shoulder. He reached around so he was doing the same, hand placed between his shoulder blades (and he’s so thin, so thin, it feels like every bone he had was jutting out, what was Shiro feeding him?), and pulled Keith even closer. “Just hold onto me, okay?”_ _

__“Okay.” Keith nodded, then smiled softly, fringe almost falling across his face. “Okay.”_ _

__“And…one, two, three, one, two, three,” Lance murmured, gently stepping back, thankful Kay taught him to dance. He spun them gently, humming along to the song, leading Keith._ _

__In truth, ever since he was young enough to stay up past midnight and watch films with his siblings (on the laptop, hidden under duvets, nearly always caught by Mum because they didn’t turn the volume down enough), he’d wanted a moment like this. Movie moment, soft lighting, fairy lights, just him and the one he loved._ _

__He didn’t think he ever would have it._ _

__They were almost gliding around the room, an impressive feat when wearing socks on a carpeted floor. Or maybe it just felt that way to Lance, who was all sorts of _giddy_ and _nice_ and god, he loved Keith. He loved him._ _

__He stepped away from Keith for a moment, just enough to spin him, then drew him back in, close, heart beating, soft thrum, alive._ _

__“Y’know, I don’t smell as much smoke on you as I usually do,” he said, voice hushed. There was a scent of gingerbread, cinnamon, something sweet instead, but the smoke was still there, buried if anything. “What gives?”_ _

__“I thought… you didn’t like smoking,” Keith mumbled, his head down yet his gaze looking up at Lance through his fringe. “So I thought I’d quit. Did I - overstep some boundaries?”_ _

__Lance couldn’t help but chuckle, brushing Keith’s fringe to the side. He looked younger, almost fearful, without the hair obscuring him. “You didn’t. Keith, I didn’t even ask you stop.”_ _

__“I thought you’d want me to.” Keith shook his head, then drew close to Lance again, chest to chest, head down, warm even through Lance’s layers of clothing._ _

__“Stay the night?” Keith murmured, head nestled between Lance’s shoulder and neck, blinking up at Lance._ _

__“Of course I will, babe,” he said. And then: “Love you.”_ _

__He could hear his heart thump in his head._ _

__“Love you too,” Keith said, and Lance never felt lighter._ _

__

__\----------_ _

__Hunk bursts back into his life one day, as Hunk is wont to do, though at least he was nice enough to send a heads up an hour and twenty-two minutes in advance, and bring along many, many snacks, so Lance couldn’t complain too much. He makes it a point to wear the prosthetic legs, because that’s part of Not Making Hunk Worry. He throws the door open wide, and greets Hunk loudly and noisily, pretending the sweeping bear hug Hunk gave him didn’t make him teeter and almost lose balance._ _

__They ended on Lance’s sofa, watching Rick and Morty on Netflix but Hunk still hadn’t seen it despite both him and Pidge (Allura and Shiro _also_ hadn’t seen it, seriously, what kind of philistines are Lance’s friends? At least one of them has taste.) raving about it. Or at least they used to._ _

__He needs to see his friends again._ _

__Anyway, they ended up on Lance’s sofa, watching Rick and Morty, with Hunk slowly going from horrified to hysterical with laughter in six minutes, which to his credit, was shorter than Lance thought he would last in the ‘oh my god what the fuck is’ stage of Rick and Morty watching._ _

__“What is this,” Hunk mused as Snowball demands his testicles back. “What even is this?”_ _

__“It’s _art_ ,” Lance insists, and it’s easy._ _

__Five episodes in, and a thought strikes him, and he doubles over, laughing, chortling, hitting the table in front of them._ _

__“What, what?!” Hunk asks, pausing the episode. “Lance, is everything -”_ _

__“It’s you!” he cries. “You’re Mr. Meeseeks!”_ _

__Hunk shakes his head, in that disappointed dad way he must have picked up from Shiro. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he mutters, unpausing the episode. “I’m not -”_ _

__“ _Existence is pain to a Meeseeks, Jerry!_ ”_ _

__Blink. Two blinks. “Well, shit,” Hunk says. “Guess I am Mr. Meeseeks.”_ _

__Lance bursts with laughter again, stomach hurting from laughing so much and Hunk joins in, until they’re both collapsing over each other, Hunk hugging him close as the episode plays on._ _

__He’s good at this now, mimicking his old self. Smile. No, not like that, that’s too wide, he’ll know something’s up. Talk more. Hide the insecurities that only grow. Laugh, laugh, chuckle. Smile a little less. Pretend everything will be okay. Pretend everything _is_ okay._ _

__“Hey.” Lance stopped laughing and glanced up to see Hunk smiling at him. “We miss having you around.”_ _

__Panic, for one seering second, engulfs Lance’s heart, but he shoves it aside, shoves himself up, almost looming over Hunk, and laughs._ _

__“Of course you would!” Head flick, dazzling pose, hand on chin, other on hip, chest puffed out. “I was the best looking friend you lot ever had! Not to mention the funniest and the best dancer!”_ _

__There’s something - something sad, something disappointed, something hurt - something _not good_ in Hunk’s eyes and the way he smiles at Lance. “I mean we miss you,” he says, reaching out to touch Lance, and fuck, he can’t do this because he is _not prepared for this_._ _

__“I miss you lot as well,” he admits, but still smiles, shrugs at Hunk. “It’s just the wheelchair, y’know? Not a lot of places ‘round here that we can go to that.”_ _

__That is not what Hunk is referring to, and Lance knows this. He knows Hunk is, in fact, referring to Lance’s sudden radio silence in their group chats. The replies that come two hours later when they should have been within two seconds. The fact he never texts first. Hunk is referring to a lot of things, and Lance not even going outside is only a small part of that._ _

__“Let’s get back to watching Rick and Morty,” he suggests, sliding off Hunk and grabbing for the remote. “You need to see the council of Ricks before you leave.”_ _

__Chatter flows more easily after that, quips exchanged over the episodes, as if blatant denial of issues is better than side-stepping and dancing with it. Lance takes off his legs during Rixty Minutes and ignores the look Hunk gives. He’s thankful that he’s wearing jeans and not shorts, because he doesn’t know if he could handle Hunk seeing the stumps where his thighs end._ _

__There was someone else he should have watched Rick and Morty with. He tries not to think about that fact._ _

__They’re halfway through Close Rick-Counters of the Rick Kind < when he realises that he needs to say something. Because if Hunk came over today, then he’ll keep coming back, because Hunk’s version of ‘if you love something, let it go’ involved the condition ‘but only if you know they survive without you’ and Hunk - Hunk chases things if he needs to, has chased Lance before, jumped off high ledges for him and -_ _

__And Lance can’t just disappear on him. Not again._ _

__“We’re moving,” he announces as the credits roll, fiddling with the hem of his shirt._ _

__“Alright,” Hunk says, fiddling with the remote, switching the tv off. “Where d'you want to go?”_ _

__“No, I mean -” He takes a breath. Counts to eight in his head, and then back down. Feels like biting his nails. Keeps his eyes on the floor. “Me and Mum. We’re moving away.”_ _

__He’s shaking._ _

__“Oh,” says Hunk. Softly, “Oh.”_ _

__He nods. Covers his face. Pretends he isn't crying. Pretends that his insides don't feel all jumbled and mixed up and wrong._ _

__“Come here,” Hunk says, and he pulls Lance into a hug and _fuck did Lance miss Hunk’s hugs, soft and warm and nice, and he’s hugging him back while almost sobbing into his shoulder.__ _

___“It’s gonna be alright,” Hunk tells him, rubbing his back gently. “It’s gonna be fine. Maybe not right away, but it will be.” He shushes Lance a little, and Lance just wants to curl up even further. “D'you want me to tell everyone or you?”_ _ _

___Logically, it should be Lance. Selfishly, it should be Hunk._ _ _

___“Tell them with me,” he begs._ _ _

___Hunk nods. “Okay,” he says, pulling Lance closer. “Everything will be okay, Lance. Trust me.”_ _ _

___Trust him._ _ _

___\----------_ _ _

___That night, Lance learned many things. Mostly about Keith’s sleeping habits. For one, the boy had many covers. As in, many, many covers. The exact order, top to bottom, was an open quilted sleeping bag, then a blanket, duvet, another blanket, duvet._ _ _

___“I like the sense of pressure it gives,” Keith insisted, which was such a Keith answer Lance let it go._ _ _

___He also slept with the toy tiger dubbed Hobbes, slept with his back pressed against the wall, kicked in his sleep, and halfway through the night, Lance discovered a knife under Keith’s many pillows, the only explanation given to him was ‘protection’._ _ _

___Shiro had reappeared sometime in the night, and had taken the liberty of making breakfast for Keith. And only Keith. Lance had to make his own breakfast, so while Keith was devouring some kind of breakfast bagel, Lance was lamenting the fact that he was still banned from using Shiro’s stove._ _ _

___“Do you need a lift, Lance?” Shiro asked in a tone that was somewhere between fatherly and deadly. The exact of percentages of either could not be extracted. “I don’t want you to walk back all that way.”_ _ _

___“He drove us here?” Keith frowned. “Didn’t you see his car -”_ _ _

___The way Shiro slapped himself in surprise was worth at least a C in GCSE Drama. “Oh, I left mine at Matt and Pidge’s!” he exclaimed, and Lance prayed that Keith wasn’t as dense as he seemed, because there was a black car outside that he knew was Shiro’s. “Lance, can you give me a lift?”_ _ _

___“I’ll come too -” Keith went to stand, his plate clear, but Shiro shook his head._ _ _

___“I cook, you wash up, remember?”_ _ _

___Keith stared at him, looking like an owl. “No…? When has that ever been a rule -”_ _ _

___“It is now!” Shiro declared, snatching an apple from the fruit bowl and darting away, the front door slamming behind him. Both Lance and Keith stared at where he had once been._ _ _

___“He’s… not subtle, is he?” Lance sighed, and Keith just looked even more like an owl._ _ _

___“What do you mean?”_ _ _

___Lance just shook his head, smiling softly to himself. “Never mind,” he said. “C’mere, baby.”_ _ _

___He drew Keith close to him, enclosing Keith’s waist in hug as he rested their foreheads together. Beneath him, he could feel Keith trembling, but he concentrated on the quick blink-blink-blink of his eyes, on his eyelashes, on the flecks of darker grey hidden within the iris._ _ _

___“I’ll text you when I get home,” he promised, lightly kissing Keith once, twice. “See you soon?”_ _ _

___“See you soon,” Keith mumbled, giving a shy kiss in response, cheeks tinted rose. Then he jolted upright, and dashed for the stairs, returning moments later with a pristine book, handing it over to Lance as though it was a newborn infant._ _ _

___“Break this book,” he said, staring Lance dead in the eyes, “and I’ll break your face.”_ _ _

___When Lance finally left the house, book clutched securely in his hands (The Calvin and Hobbes Tenth Anniversary Book, as Keith had promised) in Shiro was standing by his car, grinning sheepishly, cheeks even redder than the apple in his hands._ _ _

___“I didn’t leave my car,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But can I get a lift to ASDA? We’re, uh. Out of eggs.”_ _ _

___“Sure you are,” Lance said, shrugging as he unlocked his own car. “Hop in.”_ _ _

___He climbed in, putting the book in the back seat before slowly turning the CD’s player volume up while waiting for Shiro to follow suit. When he was in the car but hadn’t closed the door, Lance switched the engine on._ _ _

___“So, anyway, Lance -”_ _ _

___**_”LAFEYETTE!”_ ** _ _ _

___“HolyjesusCHRIST!” cried the twenty two year old man currently falling out of a car._ _ _

___“ _I’mtakingthishorsebythereinsmakingredcoatsredderwithbloodstains -_ ”_ _ _

___“Lance, turn it off!” Shiro shrieked, clambering back into the car. Idly, Lance hoped Keith saw. “You little - we _are_ out of eggs and if I don’t make Keith eat - I brought the apple as a peace offering - we have neighbours!”_ _ _

___Lance turned it down by a fraction._ _ _

___“Not my fault Keith wanted to listen to Hamilton,” Lance said innocently, watching as Shiro climbed back in and did his seatbelt up, frowning as Shiro flexed his right hand. “Did you fall on your arm?”_ _ _

___“Only the hand portion.”_ _ _

___“That’s like the most important bit though.”_ _ _

___“Yes, Lance. When my doctor sat me down and said ‘I’m sorry, the nerve damage in your forearm is so bad we have to amputate,’ he also made sure to mention that for the first few months, I would only have a hand, because who needs joints?”_ _ _

___“You’re evil.”_ _ _

___“No, just the dad friend.” He looked up from his arm to notice Lance’s eyes resting on it, biting his. “Lance, it’s fine. It’s sturdier than it looks, remember? One of those 3D-printed ones?”_ _ _

___“Yeah yeah, I know.” Lance shook his head, focusing on getting his car onto the road. “Change the CD if you want.”_ _ _

___Despite this clear permission, Lance still groaned when the gentle, soothing tones of Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers’ Islands in the Stream came blasting through his speakers._ _ _

___“Really?”_ _ _

___“Do not insult my queen,” Shiro said, and then sighed, leaning back in his car seat, eyes fluttering shut and pressing his hand against his heart. “Oh, Dolly, my Dolly, my Blanche DuBois -”_ _ _

___“Please stop.”_ _ _

___“I will only stop my love for Dolly when I’m dead.” His eyes snapped open. “I’m gonna drunk karaoke this with Allura at your wedding.”_ _ _

___“I’m banning you from my wedding.”_ _ _

___“Can’t, I’m Keith’s best man.” There was silence, and Shiro was looking at Lance, eyes flicking over every detail on his face. “Lance.”_ _ _

___He swallowed, and kept his eyes on the road. “Yeah?”_ _ _

___“What is Keith to you?”_ _ _

___The early sun hid behind some clouds, and Lance wondered if he could follow it._ _ _

___What was Keith to him?_ _ _

___“What is Keith to you?” he asks, because he needs more time. When he thinks of Keith, he thinks of all sorts of emotions he can’t place into coherency, and he’s sure Shiro wants more than ‘the one who makes me happy’._ _ _

___Shiro looked out the windows, eyes darting, following the bushes as they went by. “He’s my brother,” he said, slowly at first. “He’s my brother, first and foremost, and I’d do anything to make sure he’s happy. The world hasn’t treated him right, and I knew that when I first saw the scrawny eleven year old he was in front of me. He’s not - not that much better, and yeah, he’s still a little broken, but sometimes, life gives you someone like that, and asks you to look after them, because your edges and their edges slot together, and I do.” He turned to Lance, eyes glinting like a hawk. “So, y’know, if you’re going to love Keith, love every part of him. Don’t just pick and choose which parts you want. ‘Cause everything about him - his quirks, his fears, his mind - they all add up to him. You can’t take them away. And Lance, I don't want you in his life if you're not going to love him like he should be.”_ _ _

___“I know.” Lance swallowed. “I know.” If he wasn’t driving, he’d have his eyes shut. But he kept driving, didn’t stop, didn’t slow down. Just kept on going._ _ _

___“Keith is... Keith is...the boy I love.” Eyes on the road. Ignore clammy palms. Ignore shaking legs. “I know he isn’t perfect. He’s imperfect, but y’know, aren’t we all? I feel like I love him more than I should be allowed to be. And - we fit together too. Like the awkward pieces in a jigsaw puzzle? Or when something shatters, and then another thing, and they get mixed up together, but the broken shards make something pretty. Like a mosaic. A lot like a mosaic, actually.” He slowed down for the traffic light, swallowing the lump in his throat, the hitch in his breath, the way his voice went higher at the end._ _ _

___“Lance -” There, that edge of worry to Shiro’s voice. “Are you okay?”_ _ _

___He kept quiet for moment, or maybe more, eyes on the road as the traffic light switched back to green and he could move again._ _ _

___“Keith... Keith deserves the best,” he murmured after a while, more to himself than to Shiro. “And…I know that’s not me, and it’s never going to be me, but I make him happy. So that’s close, right?”_ _ _

___The soft sound of the engine dominated the car, and Lance wondered - no, he knew - that he had screwed up._ _ _

___“It’s more than close,” Shiro said, and he was smiling, the corner of his eyes crinkling like he was a proud father. “Just keep being good to him, yeah? ‘Cause life hasn't been.”_ _ _

___“I will be.” He nodded, softly. “I will be.”_ _ _

___“I know you will,” Shiro said, smile evident in his tone, before he glanced at the back seat. “What is that book he gave you?”_ _ _

___“Calvin and Hobbes -_ _ _

___“Hobs.”_ _ _

___“What?”_ _ _

___“The tiger’s name. It’s pronounce Hobs, not Hob-bes.” Shiro reached for a bottle for water that had been in the cup holder for god knows how long, and sipped at it, before wrinkling his nose and putting it back, revulsion etched lightly onto every feature. “Trust me. I’ve googled this many, many times.”_ _ _

___“Keith pronounces it like I do.”_ _ _

___“Keith is wrong, and refuses to accept it.” Shiro sighed the sigh of someone who had fought this battle many times before, and stretched. "Also, as a side note, you two best not have sex while I'm in the house."_ _ _

___Lance made somewhere between a turtle choking and a duck being strangled._ _ _

___"What the actual fu-"_ _ _

___"I mean, you can have it in general, but I don't want to be near it. Also, lube. Do you have any?"_ _ _

___“Sh - Shiro! I will make you walk to ASDA!”_ _ _

___“Aw, Lance, you’ve gone all red -”_ _ _

___“Walking!”_ _ _

___\----------_ _ _

___Arrangements were made, courtesy of Hunk, to go bowling with everyone, followed by a sleepover at Hunk’s, where the sleep was optional, as was Lance staying the whole night._ _ _

___“Just give me the word, and I’ll take you home,” Hunk had offered, and on the one hand, Lance is grateful for it, grateful for the understanding and quick escape, but on the other, he hates it. It’s like when his old teachers used to stutter around the idea of Father’s Day cards because he was in the room, or when he had the teaching assistant hovering over his shoulder because ‘ _he might just want a bit of help reading, it’s okay if you do_ ’. Like he was being included and isolated at the same time._ _ _

___When Hunk came to pick him up, Lance’s mum insisted they take the wheelchair, and despite Lance’s brilliant and amazing protests, Hunk agreed, which meant it took them the better part of half an hour to put it his car, which meant that ultimately, they ended up stuck in traffic and being late._ _ _

___“I hope everything goes okay,” Lance says as they speed to the bowling alley._ _ _

___“What d’you mean?” Hunk asks._ _ _

___“I mean, well, like -” His hand gestures don’t help to articulate his point, he realises. “I’ve been gone so long, y’know? I haven’t seen any one since I left the hospital, and -”_ _ _

___“Dude. Dude.” Hunk pats him on the back, two secure thumps. “Don’t you worry about it. Everyone was stoked to see you again when I brought it up in the group chat. I’m pretty sure Pidge used all caps and at least sixty exclamation marks.”_ _ _

___“Yeah but you know what Pidge is like with caps -”_ _ _

___“LANCE!” came the shriek of a tiny gremlin demon child, and then Lance is falling, tumbling to the ground as said tiny gremlin demon child barrels into, arms flying up around his neck, and hugging, hugging tight._ _ _

___Lance stares up that sky, wondering what he did wrong._ _ _

___“ImissedyouImissedyouImissedyou,” Pidge babbles into his neck, their glasses pressing against him, but Lance laughs, honest to God laughs, and pulls them closer as he sits up._ _ _

___“I missed you too,” he tells them, ignoring the guilt that washes over him, thick and heavy, and Pidge slides a little away from him smiling for a moment as well. Then they frown, and smack his shoulder._ _ _

___“Jerk,” they huff. “Don’t you fucking dare do that again, you hear me? Answer your goddamn messages.”_ _ _

___“I will, I will,” Lance promises. “Can you get off for a moment? I need to stand up.”_ _ _

___It takes more effort and help for him to stand up than he wants to admits, but he does, Pidge leaps back onto him, clinging to his back this time._ _ _

___“Piggyback,” they insist. “Go on, my trusty steed, chop chop.”_ _ _

___“Pidge, you’re kinda heavy -”_ _ _

___“I’m less than a hundred pounds soaking wet, I am anything but heavy.”_ _ _

___“Got you there, Lance,” Hunk chips in, and Lance can’t help but wonder if they had planned this together somehow._ _ _

___“Onward!” Pidge cries, and Lance laughs again, charging forward, not as quick as he’d like, but fast enough as they burst into the bowling alley. Allura’s there already, lips pursed as she leans against the wall, tapping her phone, and it’s been so long, so long since he’s seen her that he feels like crying a little._ _ _

___“Allura!” He almost drops Pidge as he dashes over to her, arms out, and then they’re hugging, for probably the first time in years, Pidge squeaking indignantly as they dangle from Lance’s neck, legs flailing aimlessly in the air._ _ _

___“Lance!” Allura returns the hug, as surprisingly as strong as ever, lifting Lance and Pidge combined off the floor. “It’s been forever!” Then she frowns, placing him back on the ground. “Have you lost weight?”_ _ _

___“I have Pidge on my back. If anything, I’ve gained weight.” Sidestep, avoid the issue. He has lost weight, because sometimes eating is more effort than it’s worth, and other times he just can’t remember._ _ _

___“Oi!” Pidge cuffs him on the shoulder. “Put me down if you’re just gonna insult me!”_ _ _

___Lance shrugs. “Okay,” he says, and stops holding them up. They squawk as they hit the floor, swat at his legs, and then his thighs when they realise that hitting the legs are a mind inconvenience instead._ _ _

___“Leave you two alone for two minutes…” Hunk approaches, shaking his head at Lance dancing around to avoid Pidge’s gremlin hands, but smiling at Allura. “Any word from Shiro?”_ _ _

___Lance’s heart freeze mid-beat._ _ _

___“He’s running late due to buses, but he’ll be here soon,” Allura says, glancing down at her phone, then back up. “He says just to get started without. That alright with everyone?” Pidge and Hunk agree, Pidge finally standing back up, but her eyes remain tracked on Lance, so he plasters a smile on and laughs._ _ _

___“Course it is! Let’s get to it!” He marches up to the counter, head held high. Fake it till you make it, he tells himself._ _ _

___Exchanging shoes and getting a lane takes longer than it should, because Lance doesn’t want to change shoes. He can, but it takes forever and he doesn’t want his friends staring at him as he does so, but his friends wear him down, and he knows the employees aren’t paid enough to deal with his shit. He tries to ignore how long it takes him to put them on, tries to ignore the fact Hunk has to help him with his laces because they didn’t have velcro and he still can’t work with his right arm._ _ _

___They do rock paper scissors to decide who goes first, and while Allura wins the first time round, Lance is sure that Pidge and Hunk throw their match against him. It doesn’t really matter, except it does._ _ _

___It’s been so long since Lance has been bowling, and he can’t seem to hold the balls. They all seem to be tremble, and he ends up using the same weight as Pidge half the time. He remembers talks about nerve damage, remembers physical therapy to try and ease it all, but everything still seems wrong._ _ _

___Allura takes the lead easily, getting strikes and spares left and right, Hunk not that far behind, basically tied with her. Pidge and Lance flounder easily between third and fourth, a lucky strike putting Pidge just ahead, but there’s a fair share of gutter balls between them._ _ _

___“Why didn’t we go swimming?” Pidge grumbles as Hunk gets yet another strike. “I like swimming. You like swimming. Swimming is fun for the whole family.”_ _ _

___“Legless Lance, remember? They don’t do so well with moisture.” He pats his thighs for emphasis, and for once, someone doesn’t get pale at the mention of it. Instead Pidge sits upright, peering around at Lance like a meerkat._ _ _

___“Didn’t they give you a set of waterproof legs?” They ask, frowning. “‘Cause they should have done, or y’know, give some you can use for swimming. Do you want me to talk to my dad? I can talk to my dad. I’m gonna talk to my dad.”_ _ _

___“Pidge, you don’t have to -”_ _ _

___“Too late, I’m talking to my dad.” Pidge already has their phone out, pressing it against their ear. “Yeah, Dad? Hi, yeah, I’m fine, no I don’t need tea, Hunk says we’re ordering Chinese - what? Yeah, no, Matt gave me money - he gave me twenty quid - what that was from you? Oh well, too late, mine now.”_ _ _

___Lance is grateful Pidge is not his child. Or his sibling, for that matter. Although it would be nice not to be the youngest for once._ _ _

___“Anyway, yeah, can you get Lance waterproof legs?” Pidge continues. “Why? Well, I’m sure not being able to shower is a good reason - yes, I know shower seats are a thing, but I think he’d like to take a shower on his own? Just a feeling?”_ _ _

___“Pidge, it’s your turn -” Hunk appears, the score screen behind revealing he’s still in second._ _ _

___“Hush, Hunk, I’m busy, you take my turn.” Pidge waves him off. “Anyway, Dad, can you put Matt - what? Well, we have a 3D printer, and there’s the internet - no, this won’t be - okay it may be a little like the time we made one for Shiro, but that was a worthy investment! He still uses it to this day!”_ _ _

___“Pidge just said my name, this can’t be good.” A light chuckle, and Lance couldn’t breathe. He stares ahead at the score screen, counting, one two three four five six seven eight -_ _ _

___“Shiro, tell my dad how - actually, no, I can do it, you take my place bowling.”_ _ _

___Breathe. Focus on counting._ _ _

___Another chuckle, softer, more secure. “‘Course I will.” Pause. “Hey, Lance.”_ _ _

___One. Two. Three. Four. “Heya, Shiro. How’s life?”_ _ _

___“Not bad, not bad.” Breath. Don’t jump when he rests his arm (his right arm, his fake one) on you, Lance tells himself. “Hey, who’s winning right now? I’m assuming not Pidge.”_ _ _

___“Oi!”_ _ _

___The hand disappears, and then he’s there, walking over to Allura and Hunk, chatting, just chatting. He doesn’t look that different, not at first, but there’s a slump to his shoulders, his clothes don’t fit as well as they used to, and he looks older._ _ _

___He looks tired._ _ _

___Fake it ‘til you make it, Lance reminds himself, letting out a breath he didn’t even know was caught. Even if faking it feels like holding up both skies and mountains and all you want to do is cry._ _ _

___\----------_ _ _

___Lance was having a Bad Day._ _ _

___He felt jittery, off, skin not right on his face, insides churning against each other, everything slipping from his focus like grains of sand through fingers. He snapped at his mum when she asked him what he’d like for breakfast, and hugged her for twenty minutes afterwards._ _ _

___He didn’t want to do anything._ _ _

___But he had promised Keith that he’d be at the bonfire, and maybe being around people would make him feel better, and maybe he’d be okay after a while._ _ _

___None of it worked._ _ _

___He gazed at Pidge and Hunk and Matt chatting about some kind of technology, at Shiro and Keith talking, and at the fact he was sat, alone, across from all of them._ _ _

___He wondered if he could go home. Feign illness. If they’d miss him._ _ _

___He pulled his jacket closer around him, shivering, and closed his eyes. Started to count to himself. Breathe in for ten, breathe out for ten. He could leave silently, maybe, text Shiro or Keith later, apologising for his disappearance. That would be easy. That would be best._ _ _

___“Hey. You okay?” Keith, that was Keith’s voice._ _ _

___Just breathe, Lance told himself. Just breathe._ _ _

___Silence stretched between them. Lance kept counting. Kept his focus. So he jumped when Keith sat down next to him, close enough for their sides to press against each other, and let his head flop onto Lance’s shoulder. The pressure was grounding, almost._ _ _

___“Uh, Keith?”_ _ _

___The boy hummed for a moment, letting his hand find Lance’s and then held it, hand resting on top and fingers interwoven._ _ _

___“I know you aren’t feeling good,” he said, eyes flicking over Lance. “So… this is me trying to help.”_ _ _

___“Oh.” Lance sucked in a deep breath, waited, then let it go. “Oh.”_ _ _

___For a moment, he considered the fact that he should have brought headphones. It’d be nice, listening to music with Keith. He hummed under his breath, a song he wasn’t quite sure of._ _ _

___“...do you remember the field?” Keith murmured._ _ _

___“Of course I do,” Lance said, his own gaze lingering on Keith now._ _ _

___“I keep thinking about it,” he confessed, looking away, red tinting his cheeks. “You - you tried to make me feel better, and it… worked. And I’m really thankful for that.”_ _ _

___“Keith, where is this going?” His insides were still churning, but he could focus less on his breathing, on his counting._ _ _

___“I just…” He shook his head, groaning. “I’m no good at this, sorry. Just - one second.”_ _ _

___He stood up, and almost dashed towards where Shiro’s car was, opening the passenger door seat when he got there. For a few moments, he rummaged around, then extracted a blanket with one hand (one that was thick and fuzzy and covered in tiger stripes) and a thermos flask (that was a shade of green that Lance could only describe as ‘camping green’) in the other. He stalked back over to Lance, giving him the hot thermos._ _ _

___“Hot cocoa,” he said, before sitting down close to Lance again and draping the blanket over both of them._ _ _

___Lance blinked twice. “Why do you have a thermos with hot cocoa in it?”_ _ _

___Keith fixed him with a flat look. “It’s England. It’s _cold_ ,” he stated. “You need to stay warm somehow. A thermos of hot cocoa can do that for you.” He deconstructed the thermos, revealing it to have two cups, giving one to Lance and pouring the cocoa into it. “I mostly drink it on the way back with Shiro. It’s a little hot for me now.”_ _ _

___The hot cocoa was verging on just warmer-than-average when Lance sipped it, and he wondered if Keith’s tongue was just sensitive. Or if he just didn’t register temperatures properly. He did always seem to wear his jacket, no matter what the weather._ _ _

___“The stars are nice tonight,” Keith murmured, and Lance looked up at the sky. Slightly obscured by the bonfire, stars glinted in the sky, the moon luminescent and secure._ _ _

___“Yeah,” he murmured, finding Keith’s hand and holding it. “They really are.”_ _ _

___\----------_ _ _

___Allura and Hunk ended up tying overall, with Shiro coming in a solid second, and Lance and Pidge sharing last place. They split up for the drive to Hunk’s house, Allura and Shiro both taking the bus whereas Pidge was sufficiently manhandled and shotgun-denied into the back seat of Hunk’s car. Not that Lance necessarily liked the front, but he had longer legs and a lifetime of siblings claiming the front seat._ _ _

___“I would just like everyone to know I am being severely squashed by this wheelchair,” Pidge announces from the back seat of Hunk’s car. “I would like compensation, preferably in the form of chicken nuggets.”_ _ _

___“I thought you were vegan?” Hunk asks._ _ _

___“Wait, wait, wait, is Pidge a vegan now?” Lance swivels around in the front seat to look at Pidge. Admittedly, they did seem rather squashed by the wheelchair, and they seemed intent on boring a hole into Lance’s head with only their eyes. “Are you actually vegan now or is this like the time you said you were vegan while eating chicken nuggets because you didn’t want a flurry?”_ _ _

___“The latter,” Pidge says. “Hunk, you didn’t actually think I was vegan, did you?”_ _ _

___“I make no comment.”_ _ _

___“Oh my god, you did. I’ve ordered steak in front of you.”_ _ _

___“No -”_ _ _

___“Medium rare steak.”_ _ _

___“Pidge, unlike moi, you can walk to Hunk’s house,” Lance chips in. “So be nice to your local friendly neighbourhood Hunk.”_ _ _

___In the end, Shiro and Allura ended up arriving at Hunk’s house a good twenty minutes before they did. It may have been because of a McDonald's detour to the McDonald’s-without-a-drive-thru, but who could say?_ _ _

___Hunk’s entire family was away at Centre Parcs, which meant they could commandeer the entire house. This meant, under Lance’s helpful and watchful guidance, they were able to make the living room into a beautiful sleeping fort, complete with an abundance of pillows and the floor being covered in blankets and mattresses and soft, soft duvets._ _ _

___“You’re still sleeping on the sofa bed,” Hunk informs Lance as he brings the wheelchair in from the car. “I’m sure your mum would kill me if you didn’t.”_ _ _

___“My mum loves you more than me,” Lance replies, but accepts his fate, reclining across the sofa with sigh, arm draped against his forehead, covering his eyes. “You’re second only to a quiet household in her heart.”_ _ _

___“So it’d be more a gentle maiming?” Pidge pipes up from where they’re curled in an armchair, phone charging steadily and one earbud, other earbud out._ _ _

___“Exactly!” Lance bolts upright, jabbing his finger at Pidge. “My mum is biased, I tell you, biased.”_ _ _

___“Who isn’t biased against you?” Allura asks as she lightly paints her toenails the perfect shade of Shimmering Lollipop. Lance used to that for her, but he pushes aside that thought aside in favour of playing up the dramatics._ _ _

___“Many people!” he declares. “Like my sister! She’s biased in my favour!”_ _ _

___“Counterargument: Arthur.” Hunk says._ _ _

___“Counter-counter argument: he’s a jerk.”_ _ _

___Hunk pauses for a moment, then nods. “Fair, fair.”_ _ _

___“I forget you have siblings,” Allura confesses, and then she pauses. Looks askance at Shiro, whose quietly watching whatever they put on Netflix. It might be a disney film. She breathes out slowly, then puts on a chipper voice. “Are we going to order Chinese then?”_ _ _

___Shiro smiles then, laughs lightly, leans back, and Lance knows he was listening. “Sure, sure, let’s do that now.”_ _ _

___They’re not as good at pretending as Lance is. But he almost fell for Shiro._ _ _

___Almost._ _ _

___It’s after they devour the Chinese food and when they’re all quiet and actually watching the show that’s on TV that may or may not be animated when Hunk nudges Lance and remembers._ _ _

___He has to tell them._ _ _

___Because._ _ _

___Because he doesn’t have a lot of time. He’ll be gone in two months. Less. And it’s not fair. To reappear and disappear like that._ _ _

___They need more time. He. He needs memories with them. More than he has. Because when someone fades from your life, that’s all you have._ _ _

___“Guys,” he tries, softly. Hunk, to his credit, pauses the show, and nods at Lance. “Guys.”_ _ _

___There’s a general murmur of response. Pidge and Allura turn to look at him. After a moment, Shiro does too._ _ _

___He takes a breath. Counts. Feels around for an anchor. Finds Hunk’s hand. “I’m moving.”_ _ _

___It’s silent. He doesn’t like silence. He can’t make himself look at anyone’s eyes._ _ _

___“You… you can’t.” Pidge. That’s Pidge’s voice. “You aren’t. You - you only just - don’t joke around - Lance, look at me!”_ _ _

___He does. They’re sat up, glaring, fists clenched, and he’s not sure if they’re even realise they’re doing it. He sneaks glances at Allura and Shiro. Her face is carefully neutral, eyes flicking back and forth between Pidge and Lance, and she’s hugging her knees to her chest. And Shiro -_ _ _

___He can’t decipher Shiro._ _ _

___“We just got you back!” Pidge continues, voice hitching. “You can’t leave us! You can’t!”_ _ _

___“Hey, hey, c’mon, now. It’s not for another two months yet,” Hunk says, perhaps a little too calm, and Pidge jerks, turning to glare at him, mouth agape._ _ _

___“You knew?!” they cry, and in the next moment they’re barrelling into Lance’s chest again, arms flinging around him and clutching, hugging, and Lance just holds them. They’re skinny, bony, dressed in an oversized and faded Spongebob t-shirt and pyjama shorts, and Lance is reminded of the fact Pidge cried themselves to sleep for two weeks when Matt left for uni._ _ _

___“I’m sorry,” he whispers to them, clutching them closer. “I’m sorry.”_ _ _

___Pidge stays cradled close to him for the rest of the evening, as Lance answers questions Allura and Hunk and occasionally Shiro throw at him. He’s moving to the coast, an hour away. Uni, for the moment, is still off the table. Tristan is taking over the old home, and that includes looking after Blue. He’ll come back to see them. Yes, he’ll stay in touch._ _ _

___Yes, he means it this time._ _ _

___It’s just past midnight when Hunk tells everyone they should go to sleep. The entire time, Lance had been hanging onto him, counting, breathing. Pidge untangles themselves from Lance, and he tries to ignore their red rimmed eyes and the dried tears that made it down their cheeks._ _ _

___“Night everyone!” he calls, lying down on the sofa bed, and waiting for everyone to fall asleep._ _ _

___Lance doesn’t allow himself to fall asleep. Instead, Lance allows himself to do what he hasn’t done for months._ _ _

___He unlocks his phone, goes to photos, and looks at a dead boy who is immortalised by pixels._ _ _

___\----------_ _ _

___“Keeeeeeith,” Lance whined, stretching as he flopped upside on Keith’s bed. “Take a selfie with me.”_ _ _

___The boy, who was sat with his back against his bed and not on it, continued to focus on whatever was on his laptop screen. It looked vaguely audio related. It might have been cubase._ _ _

___“Keeeeeeeeith.” Lance tried again, poking Keith’s cheek. “Pay attention to me.”_ _ _

___Keith blinked twice, pulling out an earbud and turning to Lance. “What?”_ _ _

___“I said take a selfie with me!” Lance waved his phone around for good measure. “I only have a few photos of you! I want more!”_ _ _

___“...when have you taken pictures of me?” Keith asked, and then horror froze his face._ _ _

___“Shiro might have sent a few when I asked politely,” Lance said, and then smiled. “For what it’s worth, your legs are flattered in a skirt. I mean, mine are better, but yours look good.”_ _ _

___That, at least, seemed to get Keith to return to earth. “You’ve worn a skirt?”_ _ _

___“Me and Hunk did the school panto every year, and I made a lovely dame, I’ll have you know. Plus, in Year Nine, we did that Joseph musical which I may or may not have crashed the last night by convincing the girl who played Potiphar’s wife to switch roles with me, which I argue made the entire show one hundred present more realistic due to the simple fact that Hunk would be seduced by me in a skirt.” A grin, lazy and sardonic, stretched across his face. “That was the night with the photographer in as well, I’ll see if I can find the pictures for you.”_ _ _

___Keith nodded slowly, as though he didn’t know what to make of that story. “I’d… you can seduce Hunk in a skirt? How do you know that?”_ _ _

___“There may have been a few drunken make-outs as fifteen year olds, nothing big,” Lance dismissed, waving his hand about, only to remember his original mission. “Keith, take a photo with me!”_ _ _

___“If I do, will you let me get back on with my editing?” Keith sighed._ _ _

___“Of course I will!” Lance cheered, opening the camera on his phone and flipping it to front. He moved as close as he could to Keith, cheeks pressed against each other. For someone so thin, Keith’s were surprising soft and plush._ _ _

___“Say cheese!” he said, smiling. He waited though, waited for Keith to be done sighing and for him to smile before he took the photo._ _ _

___“That was ridiculous and I’m never doing that again,” Keith said, dropping his smile._ _ _

___Lance laughed, and kissed Keith on the cheek. “Love you, babe.”_ _ _

___Keith sighed again, shaking his head. “Love you too.”_ _ _

___\----------_ _ _

___He can’t recall falling asleep, but he must have done, because he wakes up after a nightmare of metal and blood and pain and Keith and he’s sweaty and disoriented and -_ _ _

___And not the only one awake, it seems._ _ _

___Shiro is gone, the sheets ruffled from where he was, and the sliding glass door that leads to Hunk’s back garden is open. Panic grips him a moment, but he forces himself to think. Lance’s legs and liners rests on his wheelchair, and it won’t take more than a minute to put them on and check if Shiro is okay. He pulls them on, and as quiet as he can, creeps around his his sleeping friends and slips out the open door onto the decking._ _ _

___The smell of smoke - cigarette smoke of all things - is what hits him first, and all of a sudden, he’s back, back to a bonfire and the start of a romance and a boy with onyx eyes which held the night sky and smelt of cigarette smoke and he quit because he thought Lance didn’t like smoking and -_ _ _

___“Can’t you sleep either?” Shiro’s voice is the same as it always is and always was, except it isn’t. There’s something to it now, something that he can’t mask. Tiredness, perhaps. Weariness. Frustration._ _ _

___“Nightmare,” Lance says by way of explanation, but he doesn’t know why._ _ _

___Shiro nods, as though it explains everything, and casts a look back over at Lance, eyes glinting. “You can sit next to me, if you want.”_ _ _

___It feels as though it’s a test of some sort, though of what is uncertain. Lance does go and sit by him, space between them. Clouds cover the sky, obscuring the moon and stars, and Lance misses his old friends. He and Shiro sit for a few minutes, the smoke from Shiro’s cigarette rising up slowly above them. Then he sighs, stubbing it out on a flowerpot and bringing out a half-empty packet. Blue, Lance notices, and wonders if it was the same brand that Keith smoked._ _ _

___Shiro eyed him from the side for a moment, then held out the packet to him. “Do you want one?”_ _ _

___He does. He takes it, and thanks Shiro, and then again when Shiro lights it for him._ _ _

___It’s not how he imagines smoking to be. He doesn’t cough like in films. There’s an ache, a slight burn, but that settles, and it’s soothing. Maybe that’s why Keith started, Lance thinks. He never did seem to settle down._ _ _

___“I didn’t know you smoked,” Shiro says, after a while. It’s only now Lance notices he hasn’t got his prosthetic on._ _ _

___“I don’t,” Lance tells him. “It’s my first time.” And then, “I didn’t know you smoked.”_ _ _

___Shiro nods, almost absentmindedly. “I picked it up after...after everything.”_ _ _

___‘Everything’. How can that encapsulate all that’s happen?_ _ _

___“Shiro,” Lance starts, and stops. Thinks it through, and breathes. Watches Shiro, and tries again. “I’m… I’m sorry.”_ _ _

___“What for?” There’s surprise, actual surprise in his voice, and when Lance dares to look at his face, he’s frowning. “None of what happened was you fault.”_ _ _

___He swallows back a laugh he knows will be bitter, harsh. “That’s not what I’m apologising for.”_ _ _

___There’s moment where what he said settles in the air. It’s cold, he realises, air biting at his skin. He borrowed one of Hunk’s shirts to sleep in, and while it never sat right on his frame in the past, now it exposed all of his shoulder._ _ _

___“Oh, _Lance_.” There it was. “Look at me a moment.”_ _ _

___Lance does. He pretends he isn’t trembling. He forces himself to hold Shiro’s gaze. Charcoal and a river, he thinks, almost loosely._ _ _

___“I’m glad you survived,” Shiro tells him, reaching out and placing his hand on Lance’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re alive. Lance, if you both had died, I’d…” Then he stops, and closes his eyes. “God. I don’t know what I would have done. Who knows what any of us would have done.” He takes his hand away, and turns back towards the garden. The cigarette resting between Lance’s fingers is shaking. He’s shaking._ _ _

___He wants to go home._ _ _

___“Life’s not fair, is it?” Lance asks. He wants to draw himself in, curl up into a ball._ _ _

___“If life was fair to any of us, I wouldn’t have met Keith,” Shiro says, a humourless laugh escaping him, before it fades, and he sighs. “Or maybe I would have. Maybe life decided I would be the thing that was fair to him, and then it added you and Hunk and Pidge and then it took him away.”_ _ _

___And it’s then he realises. Death changes you like nothing else, he realises, as Shiro places the cigarette between his lips and takes a drag._ _ _

___Death ages you._ _ _

___“You never said goodbye to him, did you?” Shiro asks, his eyes on Lance. “You never went to the funeral.”_ _ _

___“I was in a coma,” Lance reminds him. “Kinda hard to attend.”_ _ _

___“I know, I know.” Shiro sighs, but then he smiles at Lance. “I can arrange something, if you want. A bonfire, so we can say goodbye. We can release sky lanterns, maybe.”_ _ _

___Lance thinks it through. A bonfire. Sky lanterns. Saying goodbye. Acceptance is the first step to healing, they say. And not once had Lance been to Keith’s grave, or even tried to find it. His mum had offered once, but he had refused._ _ _

___“Yeah,” he says, shakily. He feels jumbled and jarred. But better, a bit. Not by much. “I thought you hated me.”_ _ _

___“I could never hate you.” Shiro sighed. “It was just… hard, you know? Back then.”_ _ _

___Lance nods, and stubs out his cigarette on the decking. It was nice, for a while. A small comfort. Shiro discards his own cigarette and stands up, stretching for a moment, before he turns to Lance, a gentle smile on his face._ _ _

___“Come back inside?” Shiro offers, his hand outstretched. “It’s cold out there.”_ _ _

___Lance smiles back, and takes his hand._ _ _

___\----------_ _ _

___In all truth, Lance can’t remember the accident clearly. Bits and pieces had been fed to him over time, until he had the barest and vaguest idea. He thinks it went like this._ _ _

___Keith had showed up early in the morning, grinning, waving his driving license and passed test, Shiro’s car behind him._ _ _

___“I passed! I passed!” he cheered, hugging Lance close. “Shiro’s taking me out for lunch to celebrate, but I want to take you for a drive first.”_ _ _

___Shiro’s car was the same as it always way; cleaner than Lance’s car, with the radio-slash-CD player being overly complicated and not having any CDs aside from country music, so they put in Taylor Swift and drove off. And Keith was the one driving it, overly cautious in the way new drivers were, a little unsteady, but good, a natural, better than Lance. They drove just around the fields, along the lanes, careful, careful careful, chatting naturally. At one point, Lance even crooned along to Teardrops on My Guitar and Keith swore at him, saying it was bad enough when Shiro did it, he didn’t have to join in._ _ _

___The two of them did see the other car. Maybe too late, but they did see it._ _ _

___And Keith tried to swerve, tried to save them, tried, tried, tried but_ _ _

___“Lance, I -!”_ _ _

___But it didn’t work._ _ _

___They told Lance many different things. The other driver was impaired. The other driver was going well over the speed limit. The cars were damaged beyond repair. That Lance was lucky, because he survived._ _ _

___Lucky._ _ _

___And that Keith was lucky too, because he didn’t suffer. Because he died instantly. Because there was no pain._ _ _

___How long is an instant when it’s the last instant in your life?_ _ _

___What does it even mean in the end, other than the fact Lance was rushed to hospital and Keith and the driver were placed into bags?_ _ _

___For a full week, Lance was in a coma. For a full week, Keith was in a funeral home, waiting._ _ _

___Waking up was like taking a gasp of air while being pulled up from underwater, and it felt as though no time had passed. One moment, in the car; the next, in a hospital, with a mum with tearstained cheeks by his side. A light flicked off, and then on._ _ _

___He had no legs, now. They had to amputate. His arm - his right arm, only his right - had suffered nerve damage._ _ _

___They told him he took the news remarkably well. Then put him on suicide watch when he broke down crying in the middle of the night and showed ‘warning signs’. He was still on it when he left the hospital, which he knew because he wasn’t allowed near his painkillers for ages._ _ _

___They didn’t tell him about Keith, for a while. But it wasn’t hard to figure out. Their faces went ashen when he asked after him, and Shiro -_ _ _

___Shiro visited once. He didn’t speak to Lance. Lance didn’t speak to him. After a while, he left._ _ _

___It wasn’t hard to figure out._ _ _

___“Keith’s dead, isn’t he?” he asked Hunk one day, and his friend froze. Then he looked away._ _ _

___“...yeah,” he said, after silence. “He’s - he’s gone, Lance.”_ _ _

___He had nodded slowly. “Funeral?”_ _ _

___“Came and been,” said Hunk, and he reached over and took Lance’s hand. “I’m sorry. We were gonna tell you when you were… when you were better.”_ _ _

___That’s not the word he meant, and they both knew it._ _ _

___In truth, Lance can't remember his time in hospital well. He doesn't want to remember it. There are vague ideas, whispers of memories, but few concrete ones. For instance, he knows that he had physical therapy. He knows that there was something involving wheelchairs. He knows that he dropped his place at university while he was in hospital. He just doesn't know when, or how, or even if he cared._ _ _

___Maybe his mum did it for him._ _ _

___Visitors flitted in and out of his ward. Hunk and his mum were the most constant presence, and Lance speculated they were trading shifts to watch over him when they could. One time, Lance had woke up to find Pidge fast asleep next to him, bags under their eyes._ _ _

___“Don’t leave,” he heard them murmur once. He asked Hunk not to let Pidge see him again, and they didn’t._ _ _

___Family filtered out as well. Apparently, it took all the strength in the world to stop Kay from rushing down to see him straight away, and even then he was still swept up into an almost bone-crushing hug by his pregnant sister._ _ _

___“I was so fucking worried,” she said, and before she had to drive back up to Northumbria for her job, she gave Lance a journal and a book about constellations and space that went untouched._ _ _

___Tristan was more subdued, Lance’s niece Leah in his lap as he and Lance talked. Not about anything in particular; it was light, and distracting, and Lance was thankful for that. Tristan was good at jokes._ _ _

___Arthur didn’t visit him at all. He sent a card instead. Lance wasn’t as upset over that as he supposed he should be. At least the message inside was handwritten._ _ _

___Allura returned from her holiday, beautifully bronzed from the sun, and didn't cry when she saw Lance. She just took his hand - his left hand, his good hand - and smiled at him, and talked with him._ _ _

___“I met a girl there, Nyma, and my first thought when I saw her was ‘this is exactly the type of girl Lance would flirt with’. Of course, she tried to con me out of half my money for one t-shirt, which just confirmed it. Oh! And her brother! Let me tell you about her brother, Rolo, the little so-and-so…”_ _ _

___And as she talked about her holidays and avoided his, Lance realised. She and Keith had never met. They had lived their summers in parallel, never once even knowing about each other, and Allura was only better for it. At least she didn’t have to cope with loss._ _ _

___It was this thought that caused him to start crying late at night, sobbing into his pillow. This thought that made him wish he was the one driving. This thought that made him ache with the urge to hurt tear gore his wrists. This thought that this thought that this thought -_ _ _

___Lance remembered learning in school that the passenger was typically the one killed most often in car accidents, because the driver swerves in such a manner that lets the passenger take the force of the crash._ _ _

___He wishes, for once, that Keith had been typical._ _ _

___\----------_ _ _

___Two months turn into one, and then it whittles down into weeks and days. He spends time with his friends, and well. He feels better. They make him better._ _ _

___He doesn't think of Keith so much when he’s with them._ _ _

___Shiro manages to arrange the bonfire for the week before Lance is due to leave. He’s a little tired, but he’s grinning like a maniac as he leaps into the backseat of Hunk’s car, Allura by his side and Pidge upfront. Shiro’s already at the bonfire site, already has the bonfire lit, and he looks a little tired, but he’s smiling at everyone, smiling at Lance._ _ _

___Things have become easier, Lance thinks as Shiro greets him with a hug. There’s still an ache in his chest, but it feels easier._ _ _

___He drinks vodka for the first time, and ends up leaning back so much with the shot glass in hand, it ends up in his eye._ _ _

___“Why do you guy hate me?” he whines as they laugh at his pain, Hunk being the only one who offers him assistance, gently dabbing at Lance’s eye. “What did I ever do to you guys?”_ _ _

___“You just exist,” Pidge told him, and then stole some of his cider when he wasn't looking._ _ _

___Shiro couldn't get ahold of sky lanterns, so he ended up rustling up some fireworks._ _ _

___“We’re gonna be those idiots,” he says, eyes gleaming._ _ _

___“I always wanted to be those idiots,” Lance replies._ _ _

___There’s something to fireworks that makes Lance feel good. Something about the fact they’re loud, something about the fact they draw attention only to fade seconds later. Something about how pretty they are._ _ _

___Lance loves fireworks._ _ _

___(“I don’t like fireworks,” a boy had once confessed to him, his hair tied back as they sat in a field during sunset. “They hurt my ears.”_ _ _

___“Well, when Bonfire Night hits, I’ll stay in with you,” Lance had once replied, taking the boy’s hand and smiling.)_ _ _

___Because Shiro probably spent more money on alcohol instead on fireworks, the selection isn't the best in the world. There’s still that buzz of anticipation in Lance as he settles on the hay bale, Hunk on his left and Pidge on his right. It feels like he’s six years old at his first proper firework display again, and he can't really keep still. All he needs is a sparkler in his hand, but Shiro didn't get any._ _ _

___The first arches across the sky, just as Allura passes him a bottle of something. It could be orange juice for all he cares, because he wants to watch the fireworks as they explode into shimmering sapphire and diamond white, streak gold and green into the sky, whistle and stop._ _ _

___As Shiro sends up lone crimson ones, Hunk leans over and nudges him._ _ _

___“You doing okay, dude?” he asks, voice just low enough for Lance to hear. Amethyst rain in the sky punctuates his question, and Lance nods._ _ _

___“I’m doing just fine,” he tells him as there’s a break in the fireworks, and it’s true._ _ _

___There's still aching inside his chest. It hurts to think about the boy he loves. Here though, with his friends, watching fireworks on a bale of hay, at this very moment?_ _ _

___It hurts a little less._ _ _

___\----------_ _ _

___Going home wasn’t easy._ _ _

___Well. Physically, it was. Laugh, smile, collect whatever had been given to him, laugh more, smile, be loaded into a wheelchair that he’d been taught how to use, smile smile laugh, collect prescriptions, be loaded into a car, _never stop smiling_._ _ _

___He hated how easy it was, in fact._ _ _

___Hunk helped that day, smiling kindly at Lance, watching him from the corner of his eye, a constant presence. He talked with the nurses, laughed at their jokes when Lance snorted, and went home with them, because Lance’s mum wasn’t able to carry Lance herself._ _ _

___“Keep in touch, yeah?” Hunk told him, squeezing Lance’s good shoulder after a tight hug, as if he knew what would come over the next few months. “I’m around if you need me.”_ _ _

___“I will, I will,” Lance had - promised? It didn’t sit right with him, even then._ _ _

___Then Hunk left, and Lance just collapsed._ _ _

___It was as though everything had been sapped from him all at once. Even keeping his eyes open felt like a struggle. He didn’t want to be home. He didn’t want to be anywhere._ _ _

___“Do you want anything? Cup of tea, cocoa?” His mum fussed over him, touching, hugging, watching, close, always close._ _ _

___“I just want to be alone for a bit,” he told her, and she bit her lip, and nodded, and left him alone._ _ _

___He took himself to his bedroom which, of all the minor miracles in the world, was downstairs. Everything seemed the same, if tidier. Same star-patterned wallpaper, same rich blue rug. His bed was still the corner, still with a ocean themed bed set, his bedside table still had the snow globe with the spaceship inside and -_ _ _

___And there was still Keith’s copy of Calvin and Hobbes tenth anniversary book on his bed._ _ _

___He doesn’t know how he ends up on the floor by his bed. He knows that he can’t get up without help. He doesn’t care. All he can focus on is the book, and the one thought in his mind. The thought that had been there, but not accepted._ _ _

___The thought that Keith is dead._ _ _

___Keith is dead._ _ _

___Keith is dead, and Lance will never see him again. Will never hear him again. Will never hold him again._ _ _

___He reached out, and managed to tug the book off the bed so that he was holding it. It had remained unread and untouched, because Lance had always told himself he would start it tomorrow. Tomorrow._ _ _

___Keith liked Rick and Morty, Lance thought, almost absently, or could at least recognise the quotes. They should have watched it together. They should have talked about it more. They should have discussed the best episodes, the best characters, what made it great. It should have become an inside joke._ _ _

___But it couldn’t._ _ _

___With shaking hands, he opened the book, and felt the air leave his lungs. There was a message, printed in thick black ink in the top right hand corner of the page._ _ _

_______‘Keith - ’_  
_‘This my gift to you. I’m sorry we had to split up this way. I’m sorry I can’t take care of you any more. But this isn’t goodbye! This book is a promise. We’ll see each other again one day. I promise you.’_  
_‘Until then,’_  
_‘Thace.’_

___A piece of Keith’s past, there, not even hidden. The word carers flashed in Lance’s mind, and he wondered if this Thace was one of them. He wondered if this Thace knew Keith was dead. He wondered if Shiro even knew of this Thace._ _ _

___More. He should have asked more questions. He curled in on myself, head resting against the bed, tears escaping from his closed eyes as he shook and hugged himself and willed himself not to cry._ _ _

___Song. Soft, chirping, birdsong drifted over to his ears, and his eyes snapped opened. He jerked up, still trembling, and turned to where it was coming from._ _ _

___A robin, perched on the windowsill outside, head cocked, gazing in at Lance, red chest blaring._ _ _

___He couldn’t help it. A robin. He started laughing. A robin. He was sobbing._ _ _

___It was dumb, it was stupid, it was sad, it was pathetic, it was everything, it was nothing, it was -_ _ _

___It was -_ _ _

___\----------_ _ _

___It’s time to say goodbye._ _ _

___It was weird, labelling his childhood and putting it into boxes. Stripping his bedroom down and deciding what needs to be packed now, and what needs to wait for the day before the move. It brings the whole idea of ‘he’s moving away’ into reality, a tangible fact when it wasn't before. Even more so now they’re loading everything into vans and his mum’s car._ _ _

___He ended up giving his own car to Shiro. Just so he had one again, because Lance still has that creeping guilt in the back of his neck when he remembers it was Shiro’s car that got ruined._ _ _

___“Lance, I can’t -”_ _ _

___“Dude. Shiro.” Lance had practically shoved his keys into Shiro’s chest. “Just take ‘em. We’ll sort out everything out. My paperwork is already done. Just give the word and I’ll send it off._ _ _

___Shiro stared at Lance for a few moment, before sighing and shaking his head. “What are we gonna do with you?” he asked, but there was a soft fondness to his tone._ _ _

___He’s here though, lifting up the furniture that Tristan doesn’t want to keep alongside with Hunk, and all of his other friends are as well. They didn’t need to be - hell, Lance remembers telling them not to show up, because he’d probably start crying, which, of course, only made them show up, Pidge even waving around a camera as though their phones didn’t come with a perfectly good one._ _ _

___Pidge is also the least useful of his friends, claiming their duty to be ‘Lance’s babysitter’, and then promptly wasting their battery on Pokémon Go. The actual taking objects out and putting them into vehicles goes by rather quick, because the cottage is only a quarter of the size of this house, and Tristan wants to keep a lot of the furniture that Lance and their mum doesn’t need._ _ _

___“Have fun down by the coast, baby bro,” he tells Lance, ruffling his hair like he was eight. “We’ll probably come down a lot in the summer. Kay’s on about doing so as well. And we’ll just let Arthur do what he wants, yeah?”_ _ _

___“Yeah, yeah,” Lance grumbles, giving his brother a nudge. “Just look after Blue for me, yeah? She’s an old lady rabbit.”_ _ _

___“Practically victorian for a rabbit,” Tristan replies, and they both laugh._ _ _

___He’s grown up a lot, Tristan._ _ _

___When everything’s packed up and all that’s left do is leave, his friends surround him. Or rather, Hunk grabs into a bear hug, and somehow Pidge worms their way into it, and Allura and Shiro don’t hesitate to join in and Lance. Is not. Crying._ _ _

___“Keep in touch this time, ya jerk,” Pidge mutters, wiping at their eyes, giving him a shove for good measure as Allura passes them both a tissue. “Or else.”_ _ _

___“I will, I will. I promise.” And this time he means it._ _ _

___“We got you something,” Allura tells him, passing him a box wrapped in floral wrapping paper. “It’s not much, but it’s something.”_ _ _

___It’s a scrapbook. On the cover of the scrapbook is two photos of them. The first is of his first day of school, ever, with a small Hunk by his side. The second is recent, a group picture of all of them at a bonfire, Lance in the middle, Hunk to his left, Shiro to his right, Pidge clambering on both his and Hunk’s backs, Allura by Shiro’s side._ _ _

___Okay. He’s crying. Scratch that. He’s almost sobbing._ _ _

___“You guys!” he wails, clutching the book tight to his chest._ _ _

___“We thought you might like it,” Hunk says, chucking, that steady, grounding hand on Lance’s shoulder again. “I mean, you’re only moving an hour away, but… it’s something physical, y’know? We all did a section - mine’s the longest, for the record - and there’s space. Y’know, for more memories.”_ _ _

___“Even if they’re not with us,” Shiro adds, and Lance can only wail louder. He wants it to be with them. They’re his friends._ _ _

___They’ll always be his friends._ _ _

___He calls them back in for a group hug, and he doesn’t want this one to end. It’s just one huge squish of love, really, and if he could, he’d live in this moment forever._ _ _

___“I’m so proud of you,” he hears someone murmur, and he can’t tell if it’s Hunk or Shiro, oras maybe it’s both._ _ _

___They have to pull away, because Lance’s mother is calling him. The people who own the moving van have already driven off, and they need to follow. Before he can climb into the car, Shiro taps him on the shoulder, and pulls him into a hug that Lance imagines his dad would have given._ _ _

___“Come back for the gala,” Shiro tells him, his voice low as he pulls away, “and we’ll visit Keith together.”_ _ _

___Lance smiles at Shiro. It’s not quite happy, but it’s not quite sad either._ _ _

___“I’ll be back,” he promises, and then he’s in the car, door shut, seatbelt on, and they’re off, he and his mum, his childhood home and his friends disappearing behind them._ _ _

___He watches out the window. He watches the bushes and roadside flowers and how the sun catches the leaves overhead and gives everything a gold glow and thinks to himself how it’s such a beautiful day._ _ _

___And everything is a little broken, a little imperfect, but a little beautiful and a little strange, and Lance -_ _ _

___And Lance will be okay._ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> ...and that's enough for now.
> 
> Maybe I'll return to this fic one day. There's other stories in here that need to be told. Keith's, for instance. But not now.
> 
> Rob, love, I hope you enjoyed this fic, and if you aren't Rob, read her fics. I recommend them. She's the one this fic is gifted to.
> 
> If you have any questions, liked the fic, have feedback or noticed any mistakes, post in the comments below, or at my tumblr princedrewwrites.tumblr.com. I don't post there often, but I'll gladly receive any questions there. Or, if you just liked the fic and don't want to say anything, just leave a kudos. There's no pressure either way.
> 
> Have a good day, my friends.


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